


The Violet Hour

by ryukoishida



Series: My Head is an Animal [1]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Cat/Human Hybrids, M/M, assumes all characters from Nekoma are catboys, catboy!Oikawa, that's all
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-27
Updated: 2015-12-27
Packaged: 2018-05-09 17:41:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,600
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5549549
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ryukoishida/pseuds/ryukoishida
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sugawara Koushi owns and manages a cat café, which is a profitable and enjoyable business in itself, but what most people don’t know is that Koushi’s shop also secretly shelters persecuted feline shapeshifters of this city.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Violet Hour

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Daily Haikyuu!! Christmas Exchange. This is my first time writing a Haikyuu!! fic, so I hope I didn’t disappoint. I’ve combined magic and cats – thus cat-boys, haha. Happy holidays, yuzubees!

“For the past twelve months, we have witnessed a rise in cases in which humans are providing shelters for _homo transfiguro_ , or more commonly known as shapeshifters, a species that can transform itself from any animal form to a humanoid form and vice versa,” the pale-skinned news anchor speaks in a monotone from his monitor, ice blue eyes horrifyingly vacant.

 

It’s getting more difficult to concentrate on the news when there’s unrelenting clawing around his ankles, and Sugawara Koushi shoos the cat with dark golden eyes and sleek, black fur away from where he’s cooking his dinner.

 

“Kuroo, you’re not at work anymore and I’m not a patron, so please seek attention somewhere else,” Koushi lightly nudges the persistent feline with his toes, brown eyes narrowing at the needy whines. “And no, I’m not making your portion again. You get so picky with your food – does it come with being biologically related to cats?”

 

The animal seems to have sensed defeat at last, tail swishing back and forth irately as he stalks out of the kitchen, disappearing behind one of the doors down the long hallway of the apartment.

 

Koushi’s hands are greasy from making tempura, so he’s unable to turn off the television and thus effectively shut off the bigotry spewing out from the news anchor’s mouth as he continues in the same flat, emotionless tone, “The shapeshifters – being the biological anomaly and mistakes of our ancestors’ past experimentation – are being properly and humanely attended to according to our laws. But the real question of the issue is this: how will the law system deal with those who choose to help harbour these dangerous creatures, the action of which can lead to dire consequences? Let’s see what some of the politicians in various parties have to say about this…”

 

“Suga, I’m turning this bullshit off. It’s making me want to spit and scratch up the television,” a gravelly drawl sounds from the living-room, interrupted rudely by a burst of laughter from a sit-com on another channel and is successively followed by a series of assured footsteps.

 

A man in his mid-20’s and sporting a head of fluffy black hair styled nonchalantly like a bedhead peeks into the kitchen, a sly grin tugging the corner of his lips and golden irises lighting up expectantly when he says, “So. Dinner?”

 

“I’m making chicken curry and tempura,” Koushi announces as he skilfully scoops up pieces of vegetables fried to a golden-brown hue and places them carefully on a piece of paper towel to absorb the excess oil.

 

As expected, the man wrinkles his nose in distaste. “Again? This is like, the fourth time this week! Aren’t you sick of it yet?”

 

“Picky,” Koushi reminds him, an eyebrow raised pointedly.

 

“Hey, this has nothing to do with the fact that I’m part-cat, all right?” The black-haired man finally steps into the kitchen and helps himself to a piece of tempura, hissing in pain when he takes a huge bite of the still too-hot but satisfyingly crunchy yam.

 

“You’re absolutely right, Kuroo,” Koushi corrects himself as he takes out three plates from the overhead cupboard. “Kenma is not half as fussy as you.”

 

“That’s because he doesn’t care for anything else other than video games.”

 

“And whose fault do you think this is?” Koushi senses more than sees Kuroo’s usual cunning grin softening around the edges as the taller man shrugs.

 

When the three residents of the apartment gather for dinner fifteen minutes later, platters of tempura, curry, and grilled salted mackerel made by a begrudging Kuroo, accompanied by bowls of rice and small side dishes, are set neatly on the table.

 

“Where’s Sawamura-san?” Kozume Kenma asks while chewing a mouthful of rice, his other hand preoccupied with playing something on his phone and his gaze solely concentrated on the screen.

 

Koushi is always surprised that the boy with the bleached-blond hair – though not that much younger than himself – can even follow their conversations when he appears to be constantly attached to his cell phone or portable game console.

 

“He has a meeting with Bokuto-san and Akaashi-san,” Koushi replies after swallowing a bite of his curry rice. “It seems like we’ll have a few additions to our shop coming in some time next week.”

 

“Business is blooming, eh?” Kuroo adds with his mouth unattractively stuffed full of fish, and he has trouble swallowing before he’s able to spit out his next words. “Have you and Sawamura consider expanding the place? It’s getting awfully full with both human and shapeshifter employees at the current location. At this rate, even if the SSIS don’t catch us, we’ll be garnering some unwanted attention from the Health Bureau for housing too many cats than are legally permitted.”

 

“I suppose…” Koushi taps the tips of his chopsticks thoughtfully against his bottom lip.

 

It’s not that he hasn’t thought about it for the last few months, especially with the influx of shapeshifters pouring into this side of town when they are driven away from their homes due to their identities having been revealed. This has caused a sharp increase of foot patrol from the Shapeshifter Investigation Squad – the SSIS for short – though this particular branch of the police bureau is conveniently misnamed as the officers in these squadrons conduct cold-blooded hunts more than actual investigations.

 

Captured shapeshifters, after being identified as such and regardless of whether or not they’ve actually committed a crime, are immediately thrown into a local House of Correction without any sort of trials or follow-up procedures. It’s been rumored amongst the shapeshifter community that the correction facility managed by the SSIS is a place of horror and nightmares where scientists attempt to “fix” the shapeshifters’ “condition”, as if their biological makeup is something that can be reversed, like it’s a disease that can be remedied.

 

Karasuno Café exists because Koushi has experienced first-hand what it was like to have someone important snatched away from him due to the unreasonable, barbaric and inhumane laws that were said to be created for the protection of the human race but it’s merely another system within which obnoxious and power-hungry politicians and government officials can exercise their bias and prejudice against those who are different.

 

“Kenma, your ears are showing again,” Kuroo scolds with a sigh, though it’s more of a gentle reminder than a sharp rebuke.

 

The young man’s black, triangular ears twitch and flatten in response, the bright gold of his irises and slit pupils an electrifying shade of lightning as he glances up through his fringes in slight annoyance, murmuring, “Why does it matter? It’s only the three of us…”

 

“Just leave him be, Kuroo,” Koushi smiles.

 

It’s truly lamentable, Koushi thinks, if they can’t even be themselves at home.

 

-

 

The digital clock informs him in glowing green digits that it’s 2:28 a.m. when he’s woken up by a series of rhythmic tapping against the glass of his bedroom window, as if someone’s asking to be let in. Koushi drags himself out of the comfortable warmth of his nest of blankets, rubbing his eyes groggily as he slides up the lower sash of the window, the frame and hinges creaking like the old, rusted thing that it is, the peal of sound so strident and unsettling in the autumn darkness that it has startled whatever has been making the noise until it’s cornered by the edge of the sill, a shivering mass of fur, blood, and dirt under the dim yellow streetlight.

 

The creature – it’s too dark out to see what colour its coat is, but its blazing eyes are a silky shade of caramel – is hissing at the silver-haired man, its tail swishing back and forth furiously as it smacks against the glass panel again and again.

 

“Hey, what’s wrong?” Koushi starts with a soft, disarming call, an arm extending out and reaching towards the animal with a slow, measured motion so as to not frighten the poor feline any further. “It’s all right, I just want to help you…”

 

It hisses again, sharp eyes glaring threateningly at Koushi, though the sound is a lot weaker this time. Its limp body is beginning to slump forwards and its legs are shaking in fatigue and pain as more blood drip from the multiple gashes on its lithe and lean body.

 

“Why would anyone do such a cruel thing?” Koushi murmurs, heart wrenched and twisting painfully against his chest as he watches the cat attempting to maintain its eye contact with the human.

 

A rhetorical question for this society, surely. Incidents like these are so commonplace nowadays that no one would bat an eye anymore. 

 

As if it can sense Koushi’s compassion in the way he gestures his fingers and the warm, welcoming smile that lights up his entire visage and the honey brown of his eyes, or perhaps the animal is simply at its physical limit, it starts to unfurl itself from the corner and takes a few wobbling steps towards Koushi’s open palm before it loses consciousness and collapses into the man’s outstretched hand.

 

After ensuring that the cat – a male one, Koushi checks – has merely fainted from exhaustion – and possibly from days of hunger if his protruding ribs is of any indication – and that nothing else seems to be too life-threatening, Koushi proceeds to clean the wounds as best as he can and patch the animal up.

 

Under the soft warm glow of his bedside lamp, Koushi lays out a blanket on the floor and places the sleeping feline gingerly amongst its soft folds. As soon as he’s settled however, tiny, high-pitched whines begin to rumble through his body, his front paws swatting at invisible horrors in his dreams, and Koushi can only watch on helplessly, his hand hesitating over the shuddering body.

 

Waking it up with any sort of unexpected touches may not be such a good idea, especially when Koushi has never interacted with him before and doesn’t know what kind of reaction to expect, but observing as the nightmare appears to progress further, and the cat’s whimpering gradually crescendos into agonizing mewling without comforting the poor soul is even more difficult.

 

So with bated breath, Koushi gently places his thumb near the cat’s pink nose and slowly, with even pressure, caresses along the bridge of his nose to the top of his head; he repeats this motion when it’s clear that the cat will not, in fact, bite his hand off, and as he continues to run his finger along, he murmurs soft nothings, just a rumble of low-pitched sounds to soothe and drive away whatever nightmares the creature is dreaming about.

 

Within a few minutes, Koushi feels the calm, steady breathing beneath his fingertips, and when he glances down, he sees with relief that the cat appears to have finally fallen into a dreamless slumber.

 

-

 

Without even opening his eyes, Koushi feels… weird, skin prickling with gooseflesh. Like he’s being watched.

 

And on top of that: oww, his back and his neck are killing him. How did he end up sleeping on the floor?

 

Oh right. He must have fallen asleep while tending to the cat he’d rescued last night in case something goes wrong.

 

Speaking of which…

 

Koushi blindly grabs for the creaking frame of his bed and hauls himself up so he can sit on the edge of the mattress while his eyes adjust to the semi-darkness of his room. The sun is just peaking out from the top of the building across the street, casting a horizontal line of light on the wall and the few framed pictures hanging there.

 

When the sleep-induced fog in his brain has been lifted, Koushi’s eyes immediately hone in on to the corner of his room where he’d settle the cat down last night, except both the cat and the blanket are missing.

 

“Looking for something?” A low, taut voice, brittle like the dry, dying leaves desperately clinging onto the last hope against the stirring of the vicious wind, speaks from the doorway.

 

“I think I’ve found it,” Koushi lifts his head up to find a man – a decidedly very naked man with the missing blanket tucked around his waist to cover his lower half, which honestly isn’t doing much – standing rigidly by the closed door, his frame leaning slightly forward as if he’s readying himself to flee at the slightest hint of a threat.

 

There are discolorations blossoming blue and purple and small cuts scattered over his olive-toned skin; his limps are long and lithe, reminding Koushi of a lynx’s, the explosive power deceivingly hidden beneath his slim frame. His ribs are protruding discernibly underneath his skin – a disconcerting sign of malnutrition – and his cheeks are sickly pale with a yellowing bruise beneath his right eye.

 

Twitching restlessly amongst the nest of thick brown hair swept messily to the sides are two triangular ears, a few shades lighter than his hair, and behind his frail body, Koushi can clearly observe a tail swiveling in silent agitation, and dark, slit caramel eyes narrowing in distrust as he continues to glare at the silver-haired man, still slightly groggy from sleep.

 

“Who the hell are you and where is this place? What do you want from me?”

 

For someone who looks like he’s about to keel over, the nameless feline shapeshifter still manages to maintain an offensive stance, arms held before him with tightly-clenched fists.

 

“Slow down,” Koushi begins to get up, and the unexpected action prompts the startled shapeshifter to take a quick step back – right into the door. “It’s fine – it’s fine, I promise I’m not going to do anything to you, okay?”

 

The stranger’s scrutinizing stare doesn’t intimidate Koushi – few things and people do these days – so he just lets him observe as he takes one steady step after another until there are about two-paces’ worth of distance between them.

 

The shapeshifter’s cautious gaze never leaves Koushi’s approaching figure, but as he gets closer, his stance becomes progressively less tense and he finally crosses his arms across his chest.

 

“Hmph, as if you’re even capable of doing such a thing,” he scoffs, and then the wall remerges in his stern visage, “Well? Are you going to answer my questions or are we going to stand around all day?”

 

“I will happily answer any questions you may have…” Koushi says with an encouraging smile, but his gaze is straying downwards, a concerned frown replacing the small smile on his face. “…but I thought I should let you know that you’re bleeding all over my floor.”

 

“Oh…”

 

The blood that has been dripping in a steady stream along his back has begun to pool around his ankles and is trickling along the cracks on the wooden flooring.

 

Koushi had taken great care in treating the long incision along the feline’s back that had been bleeding rather heavily last night, but it seems that the wound has reopened itself.

 

“Come on,” Koushi makes for the door, and the stranger lets him through, creating as much distance between them as he can, but Koushi doesn’t comment on it, merely opens the door and leads the way out. “Let’s get you cleaned up and fed, and then we’ll talk.”

 

After having his wounds tended to – though not without some minor protesting at first, and he only stops resisting when Koushi pointedly ask him how he was going to dress the wound on his back by himself – he changes into the clothes that Koushi hands him (he has to borrow from Daichi because even as malnourished as the stranger is, he is still a good few inches taller). In the dining room, he proceeds to guzzle down the eggs, bacon strips, and toasts that Koushi swiftly whips up.

 

Koushi merely watches on with a hidden hint of a smile as he munches on his own piece of toast and warming his hand on the steaming cup of tea before him.

 

The stranger seems more at ease once he’s filled his stomach, the harshness in his eyes softening just a little and the cold, sharp twist of his lips that held contempt dissipates into a friendlier expression.

 

“To start afresh, my name is Sugawara Koushi – 25 years old and one of the co-owners of a cat café that also secretly operates as a relief shelter for any feline shapeshifters in need. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

 

The smile on the man’s face is bright and genuine, and the expression lights up the honey-brown of his irises; his hand is extended out in a welcoming gesture, his intention clear as day.

 

The shapeshifter takes his hand gingerly in his, and feels a firm squeeze around his fingers.

 

“Oikawa Tooru,” he only says, and immediately pulls his hand away as if he’s been burned.  

 

“Talkative fellow, aren’t you?” Someone pulls a chair adjacent to him and straddles it easily, arms resting on the top of the back.

 

“Only if I like you and deem you worthy,” Tooru replies flippantly, throwing a sharp smirk at the man, whom he immediately recognized to be a fellow shapeshifter from the familiar scent. “Who’s this?” Tooru directs the question at Koushi, who can’t help but let an amused grin escape.

 

“Kuroo Tetsurou at your service,” the man replies with a mock salute and a playful wink, before nodding to the other person sitting across from them whom Tooru has only just noticed, “and that’s my best friend, Kozume Kenma.”

 

“Yo,” Kenma gives a lazy wave before going back to whatever games he’s playing on his phone.

 

Tooru nods his greeting, but his attention shifts back to Koushi, his brows drawn together in puzzlement.

 

“You said you operate a shelter for shapeshifters? Isn’t that kind of… illegal?”

 

“It’s generally frowned upon – yes – but despite the risk, there are many other types of underground organizations that share our concerns and ideals, so we cooperate a lot of the time to circumvent around the rules and the SSIS. They haven’t figured out a way to shut us down though.”

 

“Yet,” Kuroo adds helpfully.

 

“Always the optimist, aren’t you?” Koushi shoots him a look but leaves it at that.

 

“So how does this work? You just… take in strays and provide everyday necessities for them?” Tooru asks, curiosity tinting his voice.

 

“Most of our clients are referred to us by the people we know from the police force and social work community, and – please don’t give me that look, Oikawa-san, it’s making me feel slightly uncomfortable,” Koushi understands the immediate concern and anger though, recognizes that same stormy sentiment from interacting with other shapeshifters he’d encountered in the past, how many of them had been mistreated.

 

“The police? Are you fucking serious?” Tooru is laughing, cold and harsh, and it’s out of pure scorn more than actual glee.

 

“Bokuto-san is a trustworthy ally; I can assure you.”

 

“But are _you_ trustworthy?” Tooru shoots back without any hesitation, golden-brown irises narrowing in obvious distrust, though his tone still carries a hint of playfulness that never quite touches his eyes.

 

“Maybe if you stick around long enough, you’ll find out. The bottom line is,” Koushi continues, ignoring the feline shapeshifter’s dark look, “when we take in clients, we provide them with a place to stay and temporary employment at our coffee shop. They can take in different positions – barista, server, kitchen helper, administration, whatever they’re comfortable with – and they usually remain with us until they find something better.”

 

“What makes you think I even want to stay?”

 

“Where else can you go? I’m sure you’ve already noticed this, but with the ongoing refugee situation, Torono is swamped with SSIS officers just lying in wait in every street corner.”

 

Tooru purses his lips but can find no claim to refute.

 

“Look, I don’t know what’s happened to you,” Koushi’s gaze lingers on the bruise on the other man’s cheek before he looks away, wanting to reach out but knowing the action will be crossing a line so he doesn’t, and continues, “and I’m not going to push unless you feel comfortable sharing, but if you stay with us, we can guarantee your safety and wellbeing, at least until you find a better option.”

 

“Suga-san’s right, you know,” Kenma speaks up softly, blond forelocks falling into his eyes as he lowers his head just a little, his fingers still expertly pressing the buttons.

 

Koushi can see the flicker of hesitation crossing Tooru’s face – a fleeting expression that seems to wish to reach out for help, to accept Koushi’s invitation, but it disappears as soon as Koushi’s spotted it – and then the feline shapeshifter strengthens the wall again behind a carefully-constructed mask: cold and beautiful and empty.

 

“Fine,” Tooru replies with a pleasant enough smile.

 

-

 

“Hey, Tobio-chan, is he always like this?”

 

“Huh? Who?” The dark-haired barista with stormy grey eyes glances up for a moment from where he’s operating the whirring coffee machine before returning his attention to his task, his hands busy mixing three different types of caffeinated drinks amongst the bustling coffee bar.

 

“Sugawara Koushi,” Tooru clarifies in a smooth tone, leaning forward across the bar table with his chin cradled within his palms. He likes how the syllables of this human’s name roll off his tongue, like a refreshing little melody. 

 

The man himself is chatting closely with the three new employees at the back of the shop, his smile a gentle and encouraging one as he introduces them to the other staff and the duties of their positions. Koushi has assigned them temporary lodgings to stay while they work here.

 

Amongst the group, a dark-haired teenager with a smatter of freckles on his face stands out the most – with a barely-healed cut that starts from his temple and extends to his chin. Standing close behind him and exuding a protective aura is a tall blond wearing black-rimmed glasses. The sullen twist along his lips seems to be a permanent aspect of his otherwise delicate facial features.

 

“Suga-san? How do you mean?” Kageyama Tobio doesn’t want to deal with nonsense questions right now – not when he has about five backed up orders of assorted soy-milk, non-fat, iced cappuccinos with milk foam or whatever the hell these people are coming up with, and _especially_ if they come from the mouth of a certain feline shapeshifter who chats more than he works the front of house as he’s supposed to.

 

“Is he always this nice to folks like us?”

 

“Well, yeah, I suppose so,” Kageyama frowns slightly, not at the foam that threatens to overflow the cup, which he quickly wipes up with a clean napkin, but at Tooru’s strange question. “That’s the entire purpose of Karasuno Café, isn’t it?”

 

“He’s human though.” It’s simply incomprehensible to him how easily the man seems to accept him without questioning his background or suspecting him of ulterior motives; any humans he’s crossed paths with have either feared him, abandoned him, or shunned him completely, so for him to place his entire trust on this stranger is close to impossible, but he has nowhere else to go.

 

For now, Karasuno Café is his shelter and Sugawara Koushi becomes his personal savior.

 

“So am I,” Kageyama reminds him.

 

“So why do you guys care about societal garbage like us?”

 

“You’re not garbage! I mean,” Kageyama pauses and Tooru raises a brow, silently daring him to continue, “sure, you’re loud-mouthed and a little insufferable at times, but you’re definitely not garbage.”

 

“I think most people would disagree with you,” Tooru laughs good-naturedly, “but thank you for saying so, Tobio-chan.”

 

“Oikawa-san, maybe you still don’t know about this, but people who works at Karasuno Café – humans or shapeshifters – all of us have been affected by the SSIS and the government’s biased bylaws in one way or another. You’ve met Kenma, right?”

 

“Yeah.” Tooru diverts his attention to the orange tabby cat, the fur atop his head glimmering a lighter gold, loitering in the quiet corner of the coffee shop, where a teenage girl is attempting to lure his attention with a squeaky mouse toy, but the cat doesn’t even try to acknowledge her.

 

“He and Kuroo-san were with Suga-san and Daichi-san the longest when they first opened Karasuno Café, so they’ve been through everything right from the beginning. Kenma’s parents – well,” his expression darkens and his voice lowers as he continues, “let’s just say that, due to him being a shapeshifter, he’s been abused and then abandoned by his own parents when he was still very young, and Kuroo-san had taken him under his wing ever since. He’s not the only who has it rough around here, and he won’t be the last, either.”

 

“Oikawa-san, can you go and take table 5 and 7’s orders please?” Kuroo rushes by to pick up the mugs of coffee lining the countertop to put on his tray before strolling back out into the front, a great grin on his face as he greets customers.

 

“Welps, time for work, I suppose,” Tooru stretches his arms over his head with a groan and heads off to the area he’s appointed to, a brilliant grin plastered on his face and a notepad in hand.

 

-

 

“Ah, Oikawa-san, I thought you’d gone out with the rest of them for dinner.”

 

Koushi has been wiping the counters after shooing Kageyama and a young lad with a turf of orange curls by the name of Hinata Shoyo out the door so that they can join the other staff for a gathering, which leaves only himself to close down shop for the day. He doesn’t mind it that much though, since he’s always bustling around the storefront and barely has the time to wind down by himself.

 

Dusk paints a palette of vibrant orange and bruised indigo across the skylines of the city, and the temperature drops more quickly nearing nights now that the footsteps of winter are just rounding the corner as the last traces of leaves are treaded into wet, clumped messes along the sidewalks.

 

“I thought you might want some company,” Tooru grins as he breezes by to pick up the garbage, expertly tying a knot.

 

“How considerate of you,” Koushi only laughs, the corner of his eyes crinkling and Tooru has to mentally remind himself to stop staring at the man’s dimples and the up-turned curve of his lips before it’s deemed too weird or too rude.

 

He shrugs nonchalantly with another offhanded grin, collecting the other two bags waiting by the kitchen door, and take them out to the back alley.

 

When he comes back, Koushi has already shut off most of the lights, leaving the coffee shop drowning in eerie shadows.

 

“Ready to go?”

 

“Yes. Let’s. What do you feel like having for dinner?”

 

“Anything but curry,” Tooru teases and earns a playful whack on his upper arm in return.

 

“Well, well would you boys look at this? So, the rumors are true after all.”

 

Tooru freezes in his tracks, a hand darting out to reach for Koushi’s arm and firmly tugging him so that the silver-haired man can stand behind him.

 

His eyes flash a dangerous lightning-gold when he searches in the near-dark for the source of the snide and grating voice.

 

Three men steps into the coffee shop, their presence radiating nothing but pure malice and intent for destruction, if their wild, fiendish grins – irrational like wild animals’ – and brandishing weapons – two switchblades and an actual baseball bat – are of any indication.

 

Before Tooru can open his mouth, however, Koushi is already stepping around him to stand in front of him, arms stretching out in a defensive pose.

 

“Any problem here, gentlemen?” Koushi’s smile is still present though obviously forced, but the dangerous, warning gleam in his eyes are anything but subtle.

 

“Oh, don’t worry your pretty little head over it,” one of them sneers, the edge of his blade glimmering silver as the last shred of sunlight glosses along it, “We’re just having a long-overdue reunion, aren’t we, Oikawa-kun? It looks like you’ve found yourself a cozy place to stay – how wonderful!”

 

“If it’s Oikawa-san you want to talk to, as the shop owner, I suggest you pick another day since this establishment is already closed,” Koushi starts, “but if you choose to ignore my warning, you are considered to be trespassing on private properties, and I’ll not hesitate to call the police.”

 

“Oh?” The man’s nasally tone goes half an octave higher, drenching in mock amusement, “Then we’ll call in some SSIS officers and we’ll make this into a real party. Won’t that be fun?”

 

Koushi’s lips tighten into a firm line as he remains quiet. If these men – presumably a bunch of foolish extremists from the looks of it – are here to pick a fight and cause a stir, Koushi won’t doubt for a second that they’ll only be too happy to get the SSIS involved. It’ll be a mess for Karasuno Café and all the involved individuals, and as one of the co-owners of this organization, Koushi will not stand down.

 

“Suga-chan, please, let me handle this,” Tooru wraps his fingers around the other man’s wrist, and Koushi can feel the slight graze of his claws on the tips of his fingers against his skin – a sign of the shapeshifter’s transformation. His triangular ears are perked up in attention, and his tail is waving aggressively back and forth. 

 

“You should thank us for helping your shop clean up trash like him,” the man swinging the bat menacingly adds, and then his stare turns threatening, almost murderous, “unless of course you’re one of those goddamn SS sympathizers, then maybe we should directly deliver the both of you to the SSIS headquarters front door.”

 

“You fucking bastards…” Tooru snarls in a low, throaty growl, lowering his frame into a half-crouch as he flexes his claws and his canine teeth lengthening and sharpening into points, “if you dare touch one hair on his head…”

 

He shoots forward without finishing his threat, throwing his entire weight into the momentum, and he crashes into the bulky man with the bat, causing them both to fly crashing into the glass window that overlooks the empty sidewalk. They roll a few paces in a tangled mess until Tooru straddles the man, sitting atop his abdomen, and hand wrapped around his neck. He squeezes, head lowering so he can stare straight into the man’s watery eyes with a cold smile, the caramel of his eyes blazing with promises of agony.

 

“Oikawa-san!” Koushi shouts in alarm and is about to run out to help, but one of the man with the switchblade blocks his way.

 

He releases a slow, steady breath, a stray lock of silver hair falling into his eye, and he brings up his fists close to his chest. If it’s a fight they want, Koushi can think of no reason to walk away from it, not if it means his passivity might result in Tooru and the other refugees within Karasuno Café possibly being placed in danger.

 

“If you value your pathetic lives, don’t come back to harass me or my friends ever again,” Tooru punctuates the hostile statement with another squeeze around the man’s neck, claws digging into his supple skin and trickles of blood ooze out from the shallow punctures.

 

The man gasps in high-pitched wheezes as he nods vigorously, and only when tears leak out from the corner of his reddened eyes and dribble down his face in streaks does Tooru releases him and gets to his feet.

 

He’s more than ready to take on the other two, but when he looks back towards the café, the shapeshifter sees that there’s no need for that anymore.

 

Tooru raises his eyebrows at the unconscious man lying on the floor, and the other one cursing up a storm while holding his possibly broken nose as streams of blood drip past the gaps of his fingers, and when his gaze meets Koushi’s, he’s surprised to find that his entire frame is shaking and there are traces of Koushi’s own blood mixed with the extremists’ on his hands.

 

“You’re just full of surprises, aren’t you?” Tooru whistles lowly at Koushi’s handiwork as the two attackers scramble to get up to their feet and drag their unconscious companion up, limping away and silently sending seething glares at the feline shapeshifter’s general direction.

 

“I’m going to call Bokuto-san,” Koushi tells him when they finally see the three figures disappear around the street corner, taking out his cell phone and punching in the numbers. “He won’t be able to arrest those guys, but he can probably do something about sending more patrol around this area for the next little while. Do you mind giving me a hand with the broken glass?”

 

“Of course.”

 

When Koushi returns after having a long phone call with the police officer, Tooru has already cleaned up the scattered glass shards and pinned up a plastic sheet to cover the broken window.

 

“I wonder if we can still run the shop without a window tomorrow,” Koushi heaves a small sigh, though he should at least count the blessings that no one else was hurt.

 

“It’ll be breezy, that’s for certain,” Tooru replies, and then his gaze falls onto the silver-haired man’s hand, still raw and bleeding, “but before you start worrying about that, you should probably take care of your hand before it gets infected.”

 

“Ah,” Koushi blinks blankly, bringing his hand up to inspect as if he didn’t realize he’s been injured until Tooru mentions it. “Don’t worry about it – it’s just a few scratches.”

 

“Please sit your ass down and let someone else take care of you for once,” Tooru rolls his eyes, and Koushi notices that the claws and teeth have retracted back to their normal lengths, though his cat ears and tail are still present.

 

When Koushi sits down, he feels the energy drains out of his body and he’s only now registering the sharp pain that tugs along the broken skin of his fingers when he flexes them. His heartbeat has slowed back down to a steady rhythm but the adrenaline from the fight still surges through him, making him bright-eyed and slightly giddy.

 

“Give me your hand?”

 

Tooru has come back with a first aid kit, and is placing various items he’ll need on the table with meticulous order.

 

Koushi can’t stop the tremors even as he places his hand palm-down on the table, and Tooru delicately lifts it up, careful not to touch any cuts, and proceeds to wipe away the blood around his wounds with antiseptic wipes.

 

He watches as if in a trance as the bright red seeps and stains the white cloth, and neither of them speaks for a brief moment, but Tooru’s ears are twitching to the sides, and his tail is lowered close to the ground. He takes a deep breath to break the heavy silence.

 

“I’ve caused you a lot of trouble, Suga-chan,” he laughs, the sound uncharacteristically soft and a little broken as he continues to clean Koushi’s hand with a new wipe, like everything will be all right, but the next words fall out of his mouth, tasting foul and bitter on his tongue, and Tooru thinks this is really all for the best – for himself, for the human who has aided him out of the pure goodness of his heart, for the man who has done too much for him and he has nothing to give him in return. “I think I’ve outstayed my welcome here.”  

 

The redness of blood stains through everything.

 

“Don’t you dare start with me, goddamnit,” Koushi mutters, defiant hazel eyes glaring up at the other man through his fringes. “If you mention anything about leaving because of those sorts of ridiculous reasons, I’ll give you a bloody nose. I really will.”

 

Tooru chuckles, the stiffness of his posture slackens just the slightest. “Where did you learn to punch like that anyway? I’ve got to admit: it’s pretty impressive.”

 

“You’d learn a thing or two after participating some of those more violent protests over the years,” Koushi says, and his lips twitch upward in an almost-smile.

 

“All joking aside though,” Tooru’s expression darkens into something more grave, and his tone is disconcertingly calm. “I think it’s for the best if I leave. There’s no telling what those bastards will do after today, and I don’t want to be responsible for any more incidents like this.”

 

He begins to carefully dab some ointment onto the cuts, elegant but scarred fingers gently holding onto Koushi’s hand, occasionally caressing the unblemished skin, a soft, soothing gesture.

 

“You won’t have to be responsible; that’s my job. You can be part of the Karasuno family, if you want to,” Koushi tells him, lifting his gaze from their linked hands and hazel irises lock onto chagrined caramel-brown ones. The confusion blinks past as fleeting as lightning strikes across the night sky, and his ears perk up as he winds the strips of bandages around each injured knuckle.

 

“You’re so kind, Suga-chan,” Tooru smiles, but there’s a trace of melancholy along the curve of his lips, and it’s tugging at Koushi’s heartstrings, so taut and heavy it’s making him breathless, “and what makes it even worse is that you actually mean what you said.”

 

The feline shapeshifter, attentive caramel eyes observing the signs on the other man’s face, picks up Koushi’s hand once more, thumb warm and firm against the center of his palm as he wraps the other fingers across the back of his hand, and he brings it to his lips. Koushi sucks in a shivering gulp when he feels the whisper of Tooru’s heated breath spreading across his sensitive skin, and he kisses him softly there, the heart of his palm, eyes flickering close.

 

“Oikawa…san?” Koushi blinks, mouth unbelievably dry, as he pulls his hand away, and Tooru misses the warmth, but then the other man is cradling his jaw and he’s leaning across the table, eyes half-lidded.

 

Tooru meets him half-way, a hand winding to the back of Koushi’s neck to grasp a handful of his silver locks, and their lips touch in such a brief, delicate kiss that it’s not nearly enough. But they don’t go any further than that – not yet – and they lean their foreheads against each other’s, Koushi running his fingers through the shapeshifter’s thick, brown hair before resting it on top of his head.

 

“Suga-chan?” Mild confusion seeps into his low whisper, and Koushi can see the dilated pupils from this distance.

 

“I’ve always wanted to try this,” Koushi admits with an impish grin, and without any hint of explanation, he applies gentle pressure behind one of Tooru’s triangular ears with the pad of his fingers.

 

The reaction is immediate and delightfully satisfying: Tooru squeezes his eyes close at the unexpected touch and he nudges his head forward, silently pleading for more, a hand grasping desperately onto Koushi’s upper arm in an attempt to pull him closer.

 

“Suga-chan…” he whines with a low, honeyed tone that Koushi has never heard before and the man decides that he quite like that sound after all.  

 

“You’ll stay then?”

 

Koushi pauses his ministrations for a short moment, and Tooru blinks his eyes open hazily, his breaths ragged and uneven.

 

“You’re not playing fair,” Tooru protests weakly, though a grin is tugging at the corner of his mouth and his tail is waving in a relaxed pace.

 

“I don’t play by the rules, if you haven’t already noticed,” Koushi tells him with a playful smile.

 

“Mm, and I’m not complaining.”

**Author's Note:**

> I’m sorry if this seems to be an abrupt ending. I just. Don’t know how to end this. And I apologize if there are lots of mistakes; I’m still jet-lagging really badly. This has been fun to write though I never expected for it to get that long, but that always happens so yeah. Happy holidays, everyone!


End file.
